


Fightin' Back

by paperjamBipper



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: 5+1 Things, Amnesiac Stan Pines, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Brief Discussion about Death, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e01 Tourist Trapped, Episode: s01e10 Fight Fighters, Episode: s01e17 Boyz Crazy, Episode: s02 e1 Scary-oke, Filbrick Pines Is A Jerk, Gen, Hospitalization, Past Child Abuse, Post-Episode: s02e04 Sock Opera, Post-Weirdmageddon, Proceed with caution, Protective Stan Pines, chest injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperjamBipper/pseuds/paperjamBipper
Summary: That's why I'm so tough on Dipper. So when the world fights, he fights backor,five times Stan helped Dipper recover from a rough encounter with the supernatural, and one time Dipper returned the favor.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 41
Kudos: 248
Collections: Genuary 2021





	1. i

Stan can tell it’s the kids coming in through the gift shop door without even looking up from the stash of earnings he’d been counting. The height of tourism wouldn’t come until next month, and sitting around in the gift shop waiting for tourists to come by when he could always just close early to watch TV tended to get very boring very quickly.

He glances upward to greet them, and he’s surprised to find that they’re covered head to toe in cuts and scratches, and there’s twigs and leaves stuck in their hair. 

“Yeesh, you two get hit by a bus or something?” he jokes, in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t stick. The young twins just blink at him in eerie synchrony, and he can’t help but notice as they make their way to the living room that they’ve both got a slight limp in their step, and...come to think of it, hadn’t Dipper been wearing a cap when he left? 

“Hey, uh, hold on a second”

Both twins freeze, and turn back around to face them with their soft brown eyes tinted with exhaustion. Stan clears his throat. “W-wouldn’t you know, I uh, accidentally overstocked on some inventory, so, uh, how’s about each of you take one item from the gift shop? On the house”

The grin that spreads across Mabel’s face is bright enough that it could put any electrician within a ten mile radius out of business. Her brother seems less convinced, and raises his eyebrows at Stan in an expression that nearly mirrors one of his own. 

“What’s the catch?” 

“The catch is do it before I change my mind, now pick something”. 

The answer seems to pacify the kid. Mabel excitedly sprints off to the opposite side of the store as something shiny seems to catch her eye, and as much as the kid’s trying to hide it, Stan can’t help but notice how much slower Dipper’s moving without his sister’s arm wrapped around his shoulder for support. It seems he’s gotten the worse beating between the two of them from...whatever it is those kids have been up to all afternoon, and even from where he’s standing at the register Stan can see the dark purple ring of a bruise sitting just below his eye.

He’d always bruised much easier than his sister.

Even when they were the tiniest of kids, and he’d take the eight hour drive down from Gravity Falls to babysit them in California, Dipper would always end up with bruises all over his arms and legs from the smallest of falls. For the longest time, he’d chalked it up to being a terrible babysitter, and it was only a matter of time before Mabel would end up the same way, until one day when he witnessed them trip over the same dent in the rug within ten minutes of each other. Where Mabel had been able to get right back up and be on her merry way, Dipper had cried about the scraped knee the short fall gave him for at least ten minutes.

Stan clears his throat. “Hey, uh...kid?” 

Dipper turns from where he’d been admiring his new hat in the small shelf-side mirror. “Yeah?”

Stan fidgets anxiously with the collar of his suit. There’s gotta be something the kid’s not telling him, right? There’s only _one_ other person Stan knows who could wander off on his own for half an hour and come back looking like he’d been fending himself off from wildlife for the past month, and it didn’t take much to notice the kid took after him in a lot more ways than one. “I…”

“GRAPPLING HOOK!” Mabel suddenly shouts from the other side of the room, startling his train of thought away. When he and Dipper turn to her, she’s dangling from the ceiling.

“Uh…” Stan blinks. “Wouldn’t you rather have a doll, or something?”

Her grin only grows wider, and she pulls the trigger again to loosen herself from the ceiling. She lands to the ground with a heavy _thump._ “Nope!” She aims her grappling hook towards the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, and flings herself towards it. She smacks against the door, but with a quick “ _I’m okay!,”_ she stands to her feet and disappears through the door with it.

Beside Stan, Dipper chuckles, and it’s light and genuine. “Good luck getting that back from her ever again. Mom and Dad bought her a bedazzler for our twelfth birthday and she slept with the thing under her pillow for six months. She’s never giving that thing back”.

Stan shrugs, amused. “Heh, well, least now I know she’ll be able to defend herself if the goat turns on her.”

Dipper laughs. “After she got banned from the petting zoo I doubt she’d even _need_ the grappling hook in that kind of situation”

... _That’s_ a story he’s going to need to hear for sure.

But no, he’s getting off-track. Might as well bite the bullet before the kid heads to bed and he loses his nerve to ask. There’s a brief moment of silence between them, like Stan’s waiting for Dipper to speak up first, but then…

“Kid, are you sure you’re doing okay?”

Dipper tenses, and that should probably be enough of an answer for Stan, but Stan knows the kid, and he knows a white lie when he sees one, even if it’s just in the way Dipper carries himself. Stan’s had a _lot_ of practice undermining how he’s feeling for the sake of other people. After you’ve been doing it for so long it becomes pretty easy to recognize in other people.

“Yeah!” Dipper’s voice squeaks, the way it does when he’s lying. “What makes you think that I’m not?”

Stan raises an eyebrow at him. “You and your sister come in looking like you’ve been mauled by a bear, and you’ve got a huge bruise on your face that your sister doesn’t” he gently taps at his own cheek to indicate its location. He sighs, shaking his head. “Look, you don’t gotta disclose to me how it happened, if it’s scary, or embarrassing, or whatever, but I want you to be honest about how you’re feeling. Your parents are trusting me to take care of you for the summer and I can’t exactly do that _well_ if you hide things from me”.

Dipper frowns, his gaze turning away from Stan and down towards the cuts and scrapes on his arms. He looks as though his mind’s racing at a hundred miles per hour, and Stan almost wishes he had the power to read minds just to make this whole ordeal easier. 

He settles for a shrug of his shoulders. “Oh, you know me.” His voice is more controlled than it had been a moment ago, but he’s still not making direct eye contact with him. “I’ve always been clumsier than Mabel. Must’ve gotten it when I tripped over that tree root sticking out of the ground.” He tries to dismiss the thought with a wave of his hand, but it’s as if he’s trying to demonstrate what he means, because his elbow bumps against the edge of the counter and he hisses in pain. He rubs at it tenderly, and when he stops and moves his hand away his fingers are lightly caked with blood. 

Stan’s mouth forms to a tight, straight line. He punches the cash register to open it and put the rest of the day’s earnings inside. “Alright, that’s it. Come with me” 

Dipper looks horrified. “You’re not taking me to the _hospital,_ are you?” A quick glance to his hands, and he finally notices the blood. “I don’t need _stitches,_ do I? Am I gonna get some weird, gross infection, or-”

Stan kneels to his level. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy there, kiddo” he says, placing a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I’m not taking you to the hospital. Doesn’t look like nearly enough blood to need stitches anyway. We’re just gonna go into the kitchen and get the first aid kit, okay?”

Dipper sighs, and his breath is shaky. “Okay”.

He follows Stan into the kitchen like he’s his shadow, gripping onto his elbow like his life depends on it. He hops into a chair at the kitchen table and watches Stan’s every move, tight grip on his elbow not lightening up. Stan takes the seat besides Dipper, placing the first aid kit on the table beside a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. 

“Alright,” Stan clicks the first aid kit open. “Show me what the damage is” 

Dipper flinches at the use of the word _damage,_ but he finally loosens his death grip on his elbow. It’s caked with dry blood, but Stan’s relieved to find that it doesn’t look like it’s gushing. He’d been right in assuming that he must’ve reopened the cut banging his elbow on the gift shop counter. Stan hums a noise of acknowledgement as he stands to wordlessly tell Dipper he’ll be right back, and pulls a washcloth from the drawer next to the sink. He runs it under cool water for a moment before he squeezes out the excess water and offers it to Dipper. 

“Clean that off with this” Stan scrunches his nose. “Last thing you need is dry blood blocking the thing’s airway, and I can’t see how bad it actually is ‘til you clean it out. I’d help you with it, but, uh, I tend to have a hard time being _gentle”_

There’s a quiet laugh as Dipper takes it from him. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan”, he says with a smile, and Stan ruffles his hair as he sits back down beside him.

“Yeah, well don’t go telling anyone that I’m going soft. I owe too many people too much money for word to get around that I’m a good guy, or something”

Dipper stares blankly at him for a moment, like he’s trying to decide if he’s joking or if he means that statement completely seriously, but then he rolls his eyes as he wipes the cut clean. Once he’s sure that he’s finished, he holds his elbow up towards Stan so he can check to see how it looks. It’s bigger than Stan expected it to be, but he’s relieved that it doesn’t seem very deep. He takes a tube of triple antibiotic ointment from the first aid kit, and squints as a shaky hand moves to keep Dipper’s arm still. 

“Alright, this is gonna sting a lot while I rub this stuff all over the cut, but I’m gonna need you to _stay still_.” With his free hand, he grabs for the miniature box of bandages and offers it to Dipper. “Take one of these. I’m gonna need you to put it on while I check over everything else”.

Dipper doesn’t reply with anything other than a nod of acknowledgement, though the look in his eyes is something reaching admiration. Stan can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips at the sight.

Once that’s taken care of, he gives the kid a one-over to make sure his other injuries don’t need as much attention. He still doesn’t know _what_ the kid’s been up to all day, but if his brother’s first journal is anything to go by then he knows there’s no such thing as being too careful. He doesn’t _look_ like he encountered any huge monsters, as there doesn’t seem to be any significant bite marks anywhere on his skin, and Stan’s relieved to find that the majority of Dipper’s scratches are already in the process of fading. 

Just to be safe, for the scratches around his cheeks that had gathered small patches of dirt, Stan dabs a gauze into the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and gently wipes at the scratches with it until the dirt clears away. Without standing from his chair he tosses the gauze towards the trash can, but it bounces off the rim and lands to the floor beside it. 

Dipper snorts in barely-contained laughter, and the sound of it has Stan smiling again. 

“See? Good as new” Stan says, gesturing vaguely towards Dipper. He blushes, smiling towards the floor, before he stands from his chair and rushes forward to give Stan a hug that’s over as quick as it starts.

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan”, he murmurs, and he’s running towards the staircase before Stan’s even finished processing the hug. He’s just about to reach the top of the staircase when something finally comes to Stan, and he rushes towards the stairs just before his nephew can disappear around the corner.

“Hey, Dipper?”

He stops. “Yeah?”

“Just…” Stan taps at the hand railing with his fingers. “Just promise me you and your sister’ll try to stay safe, okay?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but eventually Dipper nods his head. “I promise”.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a content warning for this one: this chapter takes place following Fight Fighters, and I like to think the injuries Dipper sustained are a bit worse than just "get up and walk around fine". Sometimes the need to comfort hurt overrules cartoon logic in my brain.
> 
> No hospital scene in this chapter, but lots of conversations regarding chest and rib injuries in this chapter. If you're squeamish to that sort of thing, proceed with caution.

Maybe the reason Stan recognizes the truck pulling up without even seeing it is because of all the time he’d spent memorizing car types by the sound of their engines back in Colombia. When you’re on the run from a mob boss, it does wonders to differentiate similar looking cars from each other when you’re trying to figure out if the coast is clear when your life depends on it.

He still remembers the pattern of Rico’s car, the way the engine would make quiet _tut tut tut tut_ sounds when he was driving real slow along the path of a dirt road. 

Or maybe he just recognizes _this_ car, since he’s heard it pull up to the Shack parking lot every day since its owner turned sixteen and could finally drive himself, even on the days when he wasn’t scheduled to work. Stan would always try brushing him off with fake annoyance, he’d try sending him home to no avail, but deep down Stan really appreciated that there was _someone_ in town that chose to be in his company for something other than necessity. 

Either way, Stan can recognize Soos’s truck pull up without even getting up from his recliner, and _boy_ does he have a story to tell. He can already picture the stars in Soos’s eyes as he embellishes his tale of how he rescued Mabel from the water tower as it came crashing down, and how the adrenaline from saving his grand-niece’s life cured his fear of heights. He straightens his posture up in his chair, takes a sip from his soda, and waits for the inevitable moment Soos is gonna walk in and sit down on the living room floor like he lives at the pace. 

...but that moment doesn’t come, because Soos never walks through the front door. Stan can hear the muffled sound of Soos talking to Dipper, though he can’t really make out what they’re saying. Soos asks Dipper a question, going by the change in the inflection of his voice, and there’s a long pause before Dipper replies. 

Another long minute passes before the door opens and Dipper walks in by himself. Stan’s about to question him on it, but his mouth closes when he sees that Dipper’s favorite vest is nearly torn to shreds, and his shorts have identical holes in each leg that reveal his scraped knees. Most of his face is blocked off by his pine tree cap, and even the color of _that_ has faded from a pristine white to an unpleasant shade of light brown, caked with dirt and grass stains.

That’s _right._ The whole reason he’d been hiding out at the arcade all day is because that obnoxious teenage boy with the horrible singing voice had challenged him to a fight over....what, Wendy’s honor, or something? Stan doesn’t know, he usually avoids petty teenage drama like the plague. 

Stan settles for a shrug of his shoulders, and raises his soda can to Dipper as if it were a chalice. “How’d it go, Hercules? You win the girl over, or what?”

Dipper’s laugh is weak in response. He removes his hat to wipe some dirt and crushed leaves from his hair, and it’s when he finally meets his gaze that Stan notices that one of his eyes is swollen and bruised shut. 

“Hah,” Dipper tries for cocky, and it fails miserably when his voice cracks. “You should’ve seen the other-” 

He’s suddenly overcome with an intense coughing fit before he can finish his sentence, keeling over and gripping tightly to his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping his little chest from shattering to pieces. His coughs waver in-between wheezes as his breath hitches like he’s about to start crying from the pain of it all. 

Stan’s up to his feet as soon as he recognizes the motions. He’d had his fair share of experiencing the same thing Dipper’s going through back in his boxing days. When you fight in an underground ring that once stood as an abandoned speakeasy, your competitors never really followed the standard guidelines of a clean fight. You can only get hit in the chest with a boxing glove underlined with sharp rocks or brass knuckles so many times before you’re bound to crack a rib or two. 

But...there’s no way, right? That Robbie kid that’s always coming into the gift shop to flirt with Wendy looks as though he couldn’t weigh more than a pound heavier than Dipper, and for all his tough guy talk and bleeding heart hoodies he still won’t look Stan directly in the eyes when he addresses him.

“Kid…” Stan takes a knee, and Dipper flinches when Stan gently touches his shoulder. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, you know…” Dipper rolls his eyes, subtly avoiding eye contact with Stan. “Robbie and I were _gonna_ fight, but then we, uh, overheard these two other really tough guys duking it out with each other, and, uh, we didn’t wanna get them in trouble with the police!” He flashes a grin. “So we put our differences aside and...tried to tear them off of each other. But wouldn’t ya know it, these guys thought we were _attacking_ them, see? So, uh, they started beating on _us,_ but uh...we eventually got them to stop so we could explain everything, and we all had a good laugh about it” 

Stan raises a skeptical eyebrow. He’s not sure how the kid’s even related to him, if he’s that bad a liar. He honestly would’ve been more convincing if he’d said he’d given _himself_ the black eye, or just said that Robbie just stuck his foot out and tripped Dipper before walking away. But before Stan can question him again, Dipper’s coughing fit returns, and he drops to his knees, gripping his chest like he was suffering a heart attack. 

Whatever Robbie did to him, he clearly doesn’t want to recount it. For the briefest of moments, Stan’s vision goes red, and the half-full soda can he’d been holding suddenly bursts from the sudden pressure of Stan squeezing it like a stress toy.

...What the _fuck?_ What kind of sick freak thinks it’s funny to beat on some poor kid like he’s a punching bag? And for what? Because he has a silly crush on Wendy that he’s probably never going to act upon? Was he never twelve years old? Did he never go through that phase of crushing on every girl that gave him the time of day? It’s not like Dipper was threatening him, or anything, and even if he _had,_ what kind of coward would Robbie have to be to respond _this_ violently? 

Stan sighs, and the sound of it is gruff and lined with anger. He’ll deal with that kid later.

For now…

He reaches out to place a reassuring hand on Dipper’s shoulder, but catches himself and retracts it to his side. He stands to his feet with a grunt, and awkwardly scratches at the back of his head.

“Y’know, I can...help you out with that”

Dipper stops in his coughing for a moment, if only to ask, “Help me with what?”

“Your chest?” Stan puts his hands to his hips and rolls his shoulder. “You think your Great Uncle Stan got so good at fighting and punching things naturally? I’m flattered, kiddo, but I can recognize a damaged rib when I see one.”

“ _Damaged?”_ Dipper whispers in horror, grip on his shirt tightening. 

“Whoa, whoa, easy there” Stan’s back to his knee in an instant, resting a large hand on top of Dipper’s frail arm. “These kinds of things happen all the time, see? They ever tell you how easy it is to break someone’s rib when you’re doing CPR?”

Dipper, who’d started chewing anxiously at the collar of his shirt, spits it out, “Y-yeah, we talked about in health class” 

“See? They just snap easy, is all. All you gotta do is follow a few simple home remedies and you’ll be good as new before you know it.”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Grunkle Stan, I’m not sure I trust your definition of a home remedy” 

“Ha!” Stan laughs loudly. “I like you, kid. Nah, home remedy just means you don’t need any doctor to charge you hundreds when he’s just going to tell you things you could’ve figured out yourself.”

He stands again. “Find somewhere comfy to sit, kiddo, you’re gonna be there for a while. I’ll run into the kitchen and grab a few things for you that’ll also help with that black eye of yours, while we’re at it”.

“Okay,” Dipper mumbles, his voice sounding closer and closer to a whimper, and he sits down on Stan’s recliner. Just before Dipper can settle his back against the rest, though, Stan gently reaches behind Dipper’s back and hands him the extra cushion. 

“And, uh, if you start having another coughing fit, which you probably will, try holding this to your chest instead of clawing at your chest with your hands. It’ll hurt a lot less” 

Dipper doesn’t respond with words this time, just with a small smile as he reaches for the remote on the recliner's armrest, and that’s all the response Stan needs. He disappears into the kitchen and opens the fridge to look around for something that could suffice as an ice pack. Stan curses under his breath at himself for not picking up a box of gel packs the last time he was at the store, but chalks it up as a mental note to just buy double what he thinks he needs next time he’s there just in case. 

Stan eyes fall on a half-eaten bag of frozen corn forced closed with a hair tie, and places it on the counter beside him. That should suffice for his chest, since Dipper could just place it between the armrest and himself so he doesn’t even have to bother trying to hold it in place. Humming to himself, Stan continues to rummage through the fridge to find something...softer for Dipper to hold over his black eye. 

He freezes when he comes across the large steak packed away with the other meat cuts. Does he dare live up to the stereotype? He’s not even sure if it was ever proven whether or not using a steak for a black eye even did anything, and he was never able to afford one when he was younger when he needed something to take care of his _own_ black eyes.

As a matter of fact, it’s a miracle he can even afford the steak _now._ He remembers purchasing it after a particularly good sales week, and how he told himself that _it’s for special occasions,_ and that _he’d only buy it just this once,_ because he knew if they became a regular purchase he’d bankrupt himself before the end of the tourist season. He holds the slowly defrosting package in his hand, weighing his options, when the sound of Dipper laughing weakly at something on the TV rings into the kitchen from the other room.

... _Screw it._

He closes the fridge door, and rips open the plastic packaging surrounding the steak cut. He takes the roll of paper towels off of its stand, and uses it to wrap the bag of frozen corn, and carries the two makeshift ice packs back out to where Dipper’s still sitting in front of the television.

“Uh, bon appetit” He says, offering the two makeshift ice packs to Dipper. He laughs, squishing the cushion against his chest as he takes them.

“I know you’re just trying to help, but I think it’s low even for _you_ to expect me to cook my own dinner after this”, he smirks. “You could’ve at least asked if I even wanted steak and…” he shakes the bundle of paper towel in his hand “...whatever this is.”

“Hardy har har” Stan replies sarcastically, and takes a knee beside the recliner. “Look, I know a lot of these are gonna sound contrasting, but you have to follow my advice _very_ carefully.” He holds up the bundle of paper towels. “This one’s for your chest. All that coughing you’re doing is gonna hurt your rib even more, and in a little while you’re gonna see some bruising. Try to keep this ice pack on the places where the bruising looks the worst. You’re gonna wanna keep it there as long as you can handle it the next couple of days. If it gets too cold, you gotta adjust the paper towels, and if it stops feeling cold at all you have to replace your pack” He scratches at the back of his neck. “Right now that’s corn, because it’s the first thing in the fridge I could find, but I’m sure there are a lot better things in there you could use in case it defrosts”

He holds up the steak. “This one should be pretty obvious. I made sure that frozen bundle for your chest was small so you could use it without holding it, but this one’s another story entirely. This one you’ve got to hold up to your eye, but _don’t_ push on it. Just sort of...squish it up to your face.” He shrugs. “You gotta keep at it until you’re sure the swelling goes down, and then you’re gonna need to switch to a hot compress instead”

Stan just knows that one day, once Dipper's better, he’s going to corner him and ask how he knows all of this medical information. He just knows he is. Better not dwell on that now, and as soon as the kid doesn’t need his immediate attention he can always sneak off so he can think of a good excuse that’ll convince the kid to get off his back about it. 

Oh, and while he’s on the subject of sneaking off…

“Now listen to this last part, and listen _good._ This is the most important rule, and if I catch you breaking it I’m driving you to the hospital and leaving you there”.

That came out a lot harsher than he intended, but Dipper’s frantic nod is enough to tell him he got the picture. 

“For the next couple of days, I don’t want to hear a peep about you running around in the woods trying to solve some spooky mystery. I don’t wanna hear you jumping into the passenger side of Soos’s truck, and I don’t want to hear you running into Wendy’s arms even if she suddenly decides she wants to marry you, or something”

Dipper’s face goes beet red. “Uh, actually, that last one-” 

“Doesn’t matter” he cuts him off. “You go running off into those woods and you’re going to make it all worse. Got it?”

Dipper looks hurt, but Stan can tell it’s not _him_ he’s upset at. 

“Yes, Grunkle Stan” he murmurs, and Stan grins as he stands to his feet, ruffling Dipper’s hair.

“Ah, cheer up kid, it’s not gonna be as terrible as you think it is. You get to sleep down here in the recliner instead of walking all the way up those creaky stairs, and I bet if I even mention the _idea_ of a slumber party to your sister she’s gonna bring your whole bedroom down here to keep you company” 

Dipper huffs in quiet laughter. “Yeah, yeah, I guess that doesn’t sound _too_ awful” 

“See?” Stan snaps his fingers. “You’re sounding better already.” There’s a pause, as an idea comes to him, and then, “You think you’d be okay if I stepped out for an hour or so? Your sister should be around here somewhere if you need anything”

Dipper blinks. “You’re leaving so soon after you told me I couldn’t?” 

Stan laughs. “Just gotta run some old man errands, kiddo, I don’t think they’d be up your alley even if you _could_ come with” 

“...Fair enough” Dipper shrugs, and slumps back into his chair. 

* * *

Once Stan pulls his car into downtown, it doesn’t take long to find where Robbie had disappeared to. The old car he definitely borrowed from his parents based on the bumper stickers is parked right out in the open in the lot of the arcade, almost as if he was acting like nothing had happened between him and Dipper at all. 

Stan parked his own car beside his, and with a quick glance in one direction he could see that Robbie’s car was empty, which meant he must be inside, and a quick glance to the other direction told him that there weren’t any cops around. 

Perfect. 

Opening his car door as quietly as he can, Stan slips out of the door of his car and crouches as low as he can towards Robbie’s car, lest anyone in the arcade catch onto what he’s doing. From his suit he pulls a pocket knife, and in _one, two, three_ quick motions he slashes the wheels of the car, leaving only one perfectly intact. With a grin on his face he slinks back into car and speeds away from the arcade as fast as he can, screaming out the open window that _nobody_ messes with the Pines family and gets off scot-free. 


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final stretch, boys! This is the last chapter that takes place in season one before we get into the heavier themes of season two. Boyz Crazy this time, and probably the only emotional hurt/comfort chapter of the entire fic.

The car is uncomfortably quiet as Stan pulls away from Lookout Point. Dipper’s leaning against the passenger side door, staring into the mirror like if he stares at Wendy long enough she’ll notice and chase after them to apologize to him for snapping at him. Stan taps at the steering wheel rhythmically, just to get _some_ sort of noise to break the tension in the air, and Dipper sighs. 

It’s sad, really. The kid had been so excited to split Wendy and Robbie up before they left that he tried to insist on driving the golf cart up there himself. But he had no idea where Lookout Point even _was,_ and Stan was sure someone was finally going to notice that the golf karts were stolen from the Northwest Golf Course, so he offered to drive him there in the car instead. And even then, the kid had been so excited he was bouncing in his seat the entire drive over. Stan’s sure he would’ve neglected the seatbelt altogether if he hadn’t reached over and clicked it into place for him. He was going on and on and on about code deceptions and the supernatural and how Robbie _must’ve_ gotten the CD at some evil black market, or maybe he really did burn the CD himself and he’s secretly a vampire demon or something, and how that reminds him that he should “try mixing some salt into his spray bottle of holy water the next time he’s out demon hunting”, but now that everything’s over and done with and Wendy bitterly insisted she’d rather walk home than be with _any_ of them right now, Dipper’s looking more like a sick puppy limping home with his tail tucked between his legs.

“Ah, don’t think too much into it, kid” Stan says, and Dipper finally breaks free from his mirror trance to spare him a defeated look in his eyes. “The breakup’s still fresh. I bet by this time tomorrow she’ll be all over you, swooning over how you saved her from that horrible monster”. 

Dipper doesn’t respond, just raises an eyebrow at him and goes right back into staring out the window. Least they’re too far away for him to still be staring at Wendy out the rear view mirror. 

“I mean it!” Stan barks a laugh. “Never got to finish that story I was telling you earlier. So after Carla ran off with that hippie, I stuck around to see how things were going with her. I was sure there was something about him that he wasn’t telling her.” He pounds at his chest with one of his fists. “And I was _right!_ Turns out the dude’s guitar was, uh, cursed. So one day while he was sleeping I broke into his apartment and smashed the thing to pieces. After he had nothing left to show for himself, Carla came running back to me. Even drove the guy’s van into the ravine just so he couldn’t bother us again”

There’s a hint of a smile on Dipper’s face. “I don’t think I’d sink low enough to break the law, Grunkle Stan.” He pulls himself away from the window. “Plus I thought you said she _hated_ you for doing that"

Stan taps at his head. “You gotta work on your listening skills, Dips. I said _he_ hated me for doing that” 

Dipper rolls his eyes at him, the most _Dipper_ thing he’s done since getting back in the car to head home.

“Look, my point is, you gotta learn to look at things more positively. Maybe she wants nothing to do with you _now,_ but tomorrow? You never know”.

Dipper flinches at the idea, but this time when he sighs it sounds more like he’s trying to calm his own nerves than like he’s trying not to cry. 

Stan pulls the car up to the back of the shack and unlocks the door. He steps out, and just as he’s about to head into the house he turns heel to talk to Dipper before the kid has time to run past him up to his bedroom to mope. “How’s about we sit in the living room with a couple a’ Pitt Colas and watch a movie to forget about the whole ordeal? Your choice”

Dipper mumbles something about _movie night_ to himself, but only responds to Stan’s offer with a shrug. “I’m not in the mood. You can go in without me. I’ll come in when I’m ready”

Yeah, okay, Stan’s not buying that for a minute. He knows by now that when Dipper starts moping, the kid isn’t gonna move for _hours._ It’ll be two in the morning before he decides to come in, and even later if he accidentally falls asleep.

No mention that there’s child protection laws against leaving kids in locked cars.

…and that car-eating tree monster Stan’s sure he’s read about in that first Journal. 

Screw it. 

Stan gets back in the car, but Dipper doesn’t so much as blink when Stan closes the door behind him. Stan’s willing to believe that it’s because Dipper assumed he went inside, and whoa, okay, whoever put the idea in the kid’s head that he’s not worth the time of day is gonna need to start answering questions _fast._

He turns the keys to start the ignition, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin when his door clicks locked on him. “Grunkle Stan?” he asks, once he realizes the car is pulling away again. “Where are you taking me?”

“Y’got cotton in your ears? I told you before, kid, I’m taking you bowling”

“Right _now?_ I thought you were just saying that to make me feel better”.

“I was!” Stan flashes a grin. “But I never specified that you had a _choice_ in the matter, now did I?”

Dipper opens his mouth to argue, but before he can get so much as a word out, Stan speeds out of the driveway so quickly that Dipper’s head whacks against the headrest of his seat.

* * *

Friday nights are usually the busiest day of the week for the bowling alley, but when you know exactly the right kind of people and have just the right amount of bribe money in your pocket, you can waltz in and get any lane you want as fast as you want.

Dipper, despite all of this, doesn’t seem as thrilled about the idea of bowling as Stan is. 

“Aw, c’mon, kid” Stan gently nudges him with his elbow. “I’m letting you go first! Everyone knows the person who gets to bowl first is the person you need to beat. It’s a privilege, if you ask me” 

“I dunno, Grunkle Stan” he fiddles with the laces of his sneakers. “I appreciate the gesture, and all, but...I’m just not feeling up for it tonight”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Not up for beating me at something you know you can hold over me the rest of the summer?” He scooches closer to Dipper on the bench. “Now I know something’s _really_ wrong. This still about Wendy?”

He winces at the mention of her name like he’d just been slapped in the face, and Stan sighs.

“Look, Dips…” he pauses, trying to figure out to work around making this sound like the most awkward conversation he’s ever had with...anyone, let alone his own nephew. “Who needs women, am I right?” He raises the can of soda he’d bought from the snack bar in a toast, but Dipper only rubs at his arm awkwardly. 

There’s gotta be _something_ that’ll get Dipper to understand how many times Stan’s found himself in the exact same situation. 

Well, okay, Stan knows _exactly_ what’ll get him to understand, but if he goes around telling so much as Mabel, the kid’s dead to him.

He sighs. “Kiddo, if you repeat what I’m about to tell you, you’re _dead._ Not just to me, I’m talkin’ _dead_ dead. Got it?”

_That_ seems to be enough to catch his attention. “O-of course” he repeats, like Stan’s about to tell him the secrets to unlocking the universe. It almost makes Stan wish that his story were more interesting. 

“Truth is, that story I told you about Carla ain’t exactly how it actually went”

Dipper blinks. “I…know. You told me that earlier” 

“No, I mean…” Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. “I mean, _none_ of it was true. Obviously nobody rocketed off into the sky on a rainbow, or anything, but...Carla and I hadn’t even been dating anymore”

“ _What?_ ” Dipper’s voice squeaks, and Stan chuckles.

“Well, we _had_ been dating, y’see? But she’d just broken up with me a few days ago when I decided to stop over to the Juke Joint to see if she’d wanted to talk about changing her mind” he raises his hands in defense. “I only went in to _talk._ Scout’s honor, or...whatever it is your sister says.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I get in there, and that hippy really is playing his transcendental music up on this tiny stage they had there”.

He takes a hard swig of his soda like it was a shot glass. “But Carla was up there _with_ him, y’see? She was singing to some...weird folksy song that I’d never heard of before. Didn’t even sound like she was singing in English.” He leans back on the bench, resting his hands at the back of his head as he turns his gaze to Dipper. “That’s how I knew I lost her for good. So instead of causing a scene like some kinda.... _jerk”,_ he catches himself, “I ran out into the parking lot and hotwired her new boyfriend’s van and hightailed it outta there”.

The gaze that Dipper gives him is sympathetic, but he’s also covering his hand over his mouth like he’s trying not to giggle. 

“See? What’d I tell ya?” Stan flashes a grin. “You don’t need girls to show you a good time” he raises his drink towards the television screen above their bowling lane, still flashing with Dipper’s name. “You can always have a great time with your Grunkle Stan! No chance of eventual heartbreak with me”

“I know, I know…” Dipper stands to play his turn, and pretends the weight of the bowling ball doesn’t tip him over as he chucks it down the lane. The ball careens off to the side at the last second, barely even scraping the surface of the pins. “But I don’t think that’s entirely what’s bothering me” His second throw knocks down all but two pins, leaving him with a seven-ten split. The screen switches to flashing Stan’s name, and Dipper turns to him as he returns to his seat.

_Now_ we’re getting somewhere. Stan stands, pretending to appear dismissive in case it’s something Dipper doesn’t want to admit with all eyes on him. “You tellin’ me I just told you my biggest secret for nothing?”

Dipper blushes. “N-no! That’s not what I meant”. He sighs, looking down at his hands. “I mean, Wendy’s really one of the first people to really...accept me into her friend group.” This time _he’s_ the one waving a defensive hand in the air. “Not that I’m saying I’ve never had friends before,” he squeaks, “...but they’ve felt…forced? Since Mabel and I were in a lot of the same friend circles, it just...always felt like they liked her better than me and only let me tag along because they knew I was related to her, or something”

Wow, okay, that hits _way_ closer to home than Stan was expecting it to. He opens his mouth to comment, but it turns out that he’s not talking.

“But in comes Wendy, and y-yeah! Maybe some of it has to do with...other things” his face is turning pink, and he’s trying to hide in his vest. “But she’s so cool to me, and it doesn’t feel at all like she’s just using me to get to Mabel. Her friends like to make babysitting jokes whenever we tag along with them, but with Wendy it feels like she really _wants_ us to be there” He sighs, and slumps against his seat. “What if she hates me? Or never talks to me again? Or she quits working at the Mystery Shack because she doesn’t want to be around me, or-or she _does_ keep hanging around, but it’s just like everyone at school, and she’s only there for Mabel, but she’s too cool to cause a scene and tell me to leave, and-”

“ _Breathe,_ kid” Stan’s at his side in an instant, gripping firmly onto Dipper’s arm to help him back onto his chair before he falls to the floor. “You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack.” He loosens his grip on Dipper’s arm once the color starts returning to his face. “Tell me, you really think Wendy’s the kinda person to kick you to the curb like that?”

Dipper doesn’t respond right away, but he’s taking deep breaths, which is a good sign. “No, I guess not…” he physically turns his body towards Stan to look at him, probably to prevent another dizzying spell. “But she looked so angry at me, and she grouped me together with Robbie, and she’s probably never talking to _him_ again, I’m just….so worried I’m gonna lose the coolest friend I’ll probably ever have”.

Stan shrugs. “ _Trust_ me, bud, you do _not_ have to worry about that. Teenagers are just like that. Y’get angry, you need to blow off steam for a few hours, but come tomorrow you’re over it like it never happened”. Stan finally goes to take his turn, lobbing the ball down the lane like it weighs little more than a penny. It slips into the gutter, but at the last second it careens back up and knocks all the pins over. He grins, pumping his arms in the air, and turns his gaze back towards Dipper. “You should’ve seen me when I was her age! I’d break a window, I’d punch a jerk in the face, and then I’d be over it”

“Grunkle Stan, you’re still like that”

“Exactly!” he boasts. “And you don’t see me holding grudges against people who don’t deserve it, do ya? You know you meant well, Dipper, and I’m sure it won’t take long for her to realize that too.”

Dipper’s playing with the edge of his vest. “I guess so”.

“There, see?” Stan gently nudges him as he sits down beside him again. “Problem solved”. He says, but backtracks a little when he remembers what Dipper had said about his anxieties around making friends. “And if you ever need any of my advice on how to talk to girls _without_ using any creepy mind-altering CDs, I’m your guy” he flashes Dipper a thumbs up, and it makes him smile.

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan. I’ll keep that in mind”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking this journey with me! Apologizes for the late update, the next few chapters should come sooner since I'm really looking forward to writing those.


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give a shoutout to [endae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endae) for helping me out of a rut and indirectly motivating me to finish this chapter <3
> 
> We really be in it now, boys. Scary-oke this time, and the next chapter involves my favorite episode in all of season two >:)

“You have to promise me you’ll only use the journal for self-defense, and won’t go sniffing around for trouble.” 

Dipper crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, but only if _you_ promise that you don’t have any more bombshell secrets about this town”.

“Promise” Stan replies, placing one hand against his heart and the other crossed behind his back. Dipper squints at him for a moment, but then he sighs.

“Promise”, Dipper echoes, and his tone doesn’t sound any more genuine than his own. 

Maybe he should just hide all the black lights in the house so the kid doesn’t get any big ideas. For now, though…

“Oof, we have a _lot_ of zombie damage to clean up.” Stan pokes at his recliner with his foot. “Where’s my handyman, anyway?” 

As if on cue, the zombified Soos wanders into the room from the kitchen, arms outstretched and eyes glossed over. 

“ _Holy Moses!”_ Stan yelps, instinctively grabbing for the nearest piece of furniture to smash it over Soos’s head, before Dipper stops him, placing a hand on his arm. 

“Wait! It says here there’s a cure for zombification. It’s gonna take a _lot_ of formaldehyde” 

“Ooh, and cinnamon!” Mabel beams, popping her head over Dipper’s shoulder. 

“C’mon, Soos, let’s fix you up” 

Mabel picks up one of the dining chairs off the floor and prods Soos in the stomach back towards the kitchen. Dipper’s about to follow her into the kitchen, but Stan places a firm hand on his shoulders to stop him in his tracks. 

“Not so fast, _little man,_ ” he scolds. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I saw that zombie pick you up”

“Are you...accusing me of being a zombie?” Dipper turns to face him, and Stan almost laughs that he looks more baffled than he does angry. “Wouldn’t my head have exploded while we were singing together if that were true?” He asks, and visibly cringes at the mental image. 

“Well, yeah. Maybe you weren’t infected as quickly as Soos, but zombies don’t always gotta bite you to infect you. It’s about direct contact.” Stan grins. “Matter of fact, most zombies only bite cause they’re hungry! If they’re just looking to infect, they’re more likely to leave a nasty scratch” he offers out his hand. “Lemme see” 

Dipper places his hand in Stan’s, and Stan tugs him a bit closer so he can get a better look at Dipper’s arm. His shoulder looks fine, which means it isn’t spreading as quickly as Stan expected it to. That’s a relief. He turns Dipper’s hand to inspect the other side of his wrist, and sure enough, there are three large gashes right on the spot where the zombie had grabbed him. It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding, but the skin surrounding the gashes are already turning a sickening grayish green.

Dipper’s face goes white as a ghost at the sight of it, and if Stan weren’t holding his wrist he’s almost sure the poor kid would pass out right then and there. Stan squeezes his hand, just to give the kid a grounding gesture to prevent him from passing out a second time. “Whoa, whoa. Deep breaths, kid. You said it yourself! There’s a cure for this. We just gotta follow your sister into the kitchen before she uses it all on Soos, okay?” 

Dipper sighs, and his breath is shaky. “Okay” he replies, and he takes three steps forward before he stops. Stan’s afraid he’s going to pass out again, but he turns back around and points a finger at him. 

“How did you know that?”

“Know what?” 

Dipper’s rubbing at his infected wrist, and the sound it’s making is akin to someone walking through a pile of dead leaves. “How did you know that zombies can infect someone without biting someone? All Journal 3 talked about was how to cure a bite”

... _Shit._ That must’ve been the first journal that talked about home remedies for monster attacks.

“W-Well I’ve lived here for over thirty years, y’see? You have to learn these things pretty quickly.” Stan straightens out his posture to better sell his lie, and gestures vaguely towards Dipper. “Look at you, kiddo. You’ve had the journal for...what, two months? And I see you going around every day like you own the place” 

Dipper blushes. “I guess that makes sense”

Stan rolls his shoulders. “Of course it makes sense. I’m older and wiser, and all that” 

Dipper chuckles quietly, mumbling something under his breath about _I don’t know about wiser,_ but Stan’s too distracted by the fact that Dipper keeps scratching at his infection to bite back. “And _speaking_ about older and wiser, I of _all_ people would know that all scratching at that thing is gonna do is make it worse” 

Dipper’s hand drops to his side immediately. “Right, right” he murmurs. Stan rolls his eyes, and places a hand on Dipper’s back to gently shove him towards the kitchen.

“Hup to. The last thing we need around here is a zombie with an irrational fear of himself” Stan slaps Dipper on the back and roars in laughter, who only responds with a roll of his eyes. When they step into the kitchen, Mabel and a dezombified Soos are sitting at the table chatting casually. Soos has an ice pack on his head.

“Oh, hey dood!” Soos grins. “Hey Mr. Pines! Sorry about the whole trying to eat your brains thing. I got like, _way_ too into the character.” 

“Uh, water under the bridge” Stan waves him off before he turns his attention to Mabel. “Listen, sweetie, you got any more of the formula?” He exchanges a quick glance with Dipper, who’s hiding his arm from his sister behind his back. “I, uh, wanna toss some of it around the yard. See if it doubles as a free fertilizer for the...dead flowers” 

Mabel gasps, her eyes going wide. “Those poor zombified flower pixies!” She yelps, and gestures to a pot bubbling with oil on the stove. “Take as much as you need. I accidentally made, like, ten batches too many anyway, so if it works you could sell bottles of it in the gift shop and tell ‘em Mabel sent ya” 

Stan laughs, and takes a moment to muss up her hair. “Ah, I _knew_ my swindling skills would rub off on one of ya! Atta girl” he grins, and she grins back in equal measure before returning to her conversation with Soos. As soon as she has her back turned to him, Stan grabs the entire pot and walks as fast as he can towards the back porch without spilling any of the oil.

“Follow me”, he whispers to Dipper once he’s sure he’s out of Mabel’s earshot, and Dipper doesn’t hesitate to trail closely behind. He places the pot of oil on the ground beside the porch couch, and pats at the armrest. Dipper wordlessly complies and takes a seat, and Stan takes one last peek through the window to make sure Mabel hadn’t followed them out to watch him “revive the pixies” or whatever it is she’d said. Once he’s sure that she’s too engrossed in her conversation with Soos to notice they were gone, he takes a knee beside Dipper.

“Alright, lemme see it again” Stan says, and Dipper spreads his arm across the armrest. The infection seems to have spread to the base of his elbow, and the skin surrounding the initial gash in his arm has withered to a faded gray color. Stan sighs, and dips both of his hands up to his wrists into the pot of oil. 

The smell of it makes Stan sick. It’s far from his first time dealing with formaldehyde, and a tiny little demon at the back of his head is screaming at him that Dipper could’ve been coming into contact with it for much, much worse reasons if he came up from the basement to help him just ten seconds later. 

_No._ He squashes that thought down before it can get any worse, and begins rubbing the oil into the worst of the infection on Dipper’s wrist. It makes him flinch, and Stan’s not sure if it’s because of the smell or the burning sensation.

“Y’see, this is exactly why I tried keeping you and your sister _away_ from the supernatural.” He flicks the excess oil off of his hands, but it’s a redundant gesture because he’s right back to sticking his hands in the pot anyway. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you if I hadn’t heard you in time? Or if I’d looked anywhere else in the Shack for you first? I would’ve been forced to assume the _worst”_

He’s trying to sound strict, but damn these kids for tearing him down so much that it hurts his chest to even think about it. “I can’t have the people I care about aimlessly running around and throwing themselves into danger”

“I’m not being aimless!” Dipper whines, but hisses in pain when Stan accidentally rubs some of the oil directly into the gashes in his wrist. 

“Mhm,” Stan hums. “And I’ve never spent a year in a Colombian prison”

“I’m _not!”_ he squeaks. “Look, Grunkle Stan, I’m not just running around trying to hunt and capture every monster in the journal for fun, or anything! I’m _so_ close to discovering the identity of the author that I _have_ to follow leads when they present themselves! Nobody can really just...disappear out of thin air, right? He _has_ to be around here somewhere”

Every nerve in Stan’s body freezes up at once. 

_I’ve been telling myself that for thirty years, kid._

“Look, kid…” he pauses. What can he say? _You’re never gonna find him cause I accidentally pushed him through an interdimensional portal? Oh, and by the way, he’s my twin brother and your other Grunkle and he would probably love you and your sister to bits if he were still here?_ “...I get it. I do. But you have to understand that I’d never forgive myself if anything horrible happened to you or your sister.” He waves a defensive hand in the air. “I don’t mean to say that you can never go anywhere, ‘cause even I know that tryin’a strap you down and make you sit still would be like caging a rabid animal.” He wipes the rest of the excess oil on his pant leg, and places a gentle hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I just can’t have ya gettin’ hurt on my watch, ya hear?” 

Stan can’t help but drift his gaze towards his wrist,

_More than you already have, anyway._

“It’s not like that. Mabel and I can take care of ourselves”

“ _Watch it.”_ Stan points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re twelve. The last thing _you_ need is a hero complex”

“What?” Dipper shakes his head. “No, Grunkle Stan, I mean, Mabel and I’ve already fought half of the monsters in the journal and _won._ You don’t need to worry about anything happening to us”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Kid, didn’t I _just_ rescue you two from a hoard of zombies?”

“That’s just the thing! We’ve been chasing after monsters _all_ summer, and this is the first time you’ve ever had to get involved!” Dipper’s beaming, and okay, someone better tell this kid to stop being a picture perfect replica of his brother before he finds out it’s his biggest weakness. “You saw Gideon’s giant robot the other day, didn’t you?” 

Stan blinks. “You mean that giant pile of metal scraps everyone was crowding around?”

“Yeah!” Dipper backtracks. “Okay, well, _before_ that, it was a giant robot.”

“You’re losing me” Stan huffs. “What could Gideon’s broken robot have anything to do with why I should trust you running off on your own?

Dipper blinks, like he’s in disbelief that Stan hadn’t already connected the pieces together himself. “We’re the ones who broke it”

If Stan had a drink in his mouth, he’d be spit-taking all over the place right now. “You two? Wasn’t that thing twice the size of the shack?” 

“Oh, it was. As soon as the bus you put us on to go home pulled away from the bus stop, he tried chasing after us in it because he insisted that we still had something that he wanted”

Stan snorts. “Was he goin’ off about Mabel’s hand in marriage again?” 

Dipper laughs, but then he shakes his head. “No, he just kept rambling on about Journal 1 and how bringing the journals together could, I dunno, end the world or something? And he wanted to bring them together so he could hold the world hostage, or something.” He shrugs. “It didn’t make any sense to me. I mean, I know the author’s missing, but I just assumed he’d been kidnapped by some...thing that didn’t like being recorded. I didn’t think it was some kind of superweapon” 

Stan swears he can feel his blood turn cold. He tugs awkwardly at the collar of his shirt, and hopes Dipper assumes it’s because of the mid-summer heat.

“...But we didn’t have it!” Dipper throws his arms up in the air. “We tried telling him we had no idea what he was talking about, but he just kept getting angrier and calling liars. He had both of us in his...giant robot hands at some point, but then he decided there was nothing else he wanted from me and literally tossed me away”

Dipper’s hands are balling up into tiny, shaking fists. “He tried taking Mabel hostage. I wouldn’t have cared how much he insulted me, but...we’ve never been separated like that before”. He glances down at his shaky hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been the braver one between us. But next thing I know, I’m flinging myself off the train tracks” 

“Train tracks?” Stan blinks. “Y’mean the ones up on the cliff?”

Dipper nods, blushing. “I just...went for it. I probably got a ton of cuts from the broken glass when I smashed through the eye of the robot,” he muses, pausing to give his own arm a look over. “But I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much adrenaline in my life”

Stan snorts. “You’re trying to tell me you punched the robot so hard that you knocked it off the cliff?”

“What? No, Gideon was inside of it. He was wearing one of those weird...motion control suit...things. The robot only lost its balance because I punched him in the face.”

Stan roars in laughter. “You punched Gideon in the face?” 

“Yep!” Dipper beams. “Quite a few times, actually. I think with everyone treating him like he’s a god he tends to forget that Mabel and I are three years older than him.” He flexes an arm to show off his nonexistent muscle. “Remember that trick you taught me about punching someone in the face with their own fist?” 

“Hah!” Stan grins. “That worked?” 

“Knocked the robot’s head clean off!” Dipper grins back. “Or, well, it probably would’ve, if that wasn’t what pushed the robot over the edge” 

Stan’s keeling over in laughter. He can’t believe how casually Dipper’s talking about this. Just a month ago, if Dipper had told him the same story detail for detail, Stan would’ve been sure that Dipper was describing a movie he’d watched the previous night. 

“Not bad, kid!” he grabs Dipper into a gentle headlock, messing up his hair. “But what about your sister, huh? Don’t think I don’t see you trying to take all the credit” 

“Oh, not at all!” He’s beaming again. “That’s the best part. Mabel’s the one who saved us from falling to our deaths. Don’t ever tell her I said this, but I think the grappling hook is the best thing she’s ever owned”

Stan nudges him with his elbow. “Yeah, last thing we need around here is _both_ of you having giant heads”. Dipper glares at him, which only makes him laugh harder. 

Stan wipes a tear from his eye with his wrist. “Alright, kid. You convinced me. If you two can come out of fighting a giant sci-fi monster without so much as a scratch, I trust that you and your sister know what you’re doing”.

Dipper’s eyes go wide. “Really?” 

Stan nods. “Really. But you have to promise me you’ll still be careful, okay? I can go back on my word and hide that book away from you faster than you can say _journal._ Got it?” 

Dipper nods. “Got it.” and then, after a short pause, “I promise”. 


	5. v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeeere's Sock Opera! Clocking in at over 5k, this is the bulkiest chapter in the entire fic, and if the final one following this ends up even longer I'll be officially terrified of the power I have. This time around this chapter's dedicated to [eridescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eridescent/pseuds/eridescent), because her works were a huge inspiration and drive for this chapter. 
> 
> Bit of a content warning in this chapter for mentions and references to past child abuse. Not in regards to Dipper or Mabel, but there are quite a few nods to Filbrick sprinkled in this chapter. Fuck him.

“Seriously, I need to go to the hospital”

“Pssh,” Mabel waves a dismissive hand. “I’m sure that’s just the haven’t-slept-in-three-days-and-haven’t-eaten-in-eighteen-hours talking. Nothing a little ordering a pizza can’t fix, right Grunkle Stan?” 

“No promises,” Stan quips, and stands from his charred theater seat. “Theater folks are probably already planning on charging me for your little fireworks stunt. What kind of caretaker would that make me if I bought you pizza after all of that?”

“Uh, a fun one?”

Stan blinks. “You know? You’re absolutely right.” he stuffs his camcorder into his suit jacket. “C’mon, if we book it now these theater jerks’ll never be able to catch our plate in time”

“See?” Mabel turns back to Dipper. “What’d I tell you? Pizza solves everything”.

Dipper blinks very slowly. “Actually…” he places a hand covered in cuts gently over his stomach. “Pizza _does_ sound really good right now”

“Great!” Mabel beams, and starts half-skipping towards the small staircase attached to the side of the stage. “First one back to the car gets shotgun!” 

“Mabel, you _know_ running is the last thing I’m capable of doing right now” Dipper follows sluggishly behind. “If anything I should be getting _carried_ to the car, in case I-” 

Stan’s just quick enough to turn back towards Dipper to see his eyes roll into the back of his head. He only has one foot on the step below where he’d just been standing, but Stan isn’t taking any chances. He just barely hears Mabel’s horrified _“Dipper?”_ before he rushes forward to catch Dipper as he faints. Stan’s relieved that Dipper’s head smacks into his arm, rather than the floor or the stage, but adjusts him in his arms so his neck won’t hurt when he wakes up again.

 _“Dipper?”_ Mabel chimes in again, and she’s by Stan’s side in a moment. When she catches sight of Dipper’s paling face and gently closed eyes, her breath audibly hitches in her throat. “Dipper, can you hear me?” she shouts towards her brother’s unconscious body, but keeps her arms glued to her side like she’s afraid he’ll shatter if she touches him. Instead, she places a hand on Stan’s arm, and when he meets her gaze there are tears building in his eyes. 

“I thought he was exaggerating! I thought for sure it was because he hadn’t slept, because we _both_ fell from the catwalk in the cake prop and I walked it off _fine,_ I should’ve listened to him the first time he told me something was up and needed my help, because now he could be hurt or worse, and-” 

“Hey,” Stan takes a knee and places a gentle hand on Mabel’s shoulder the best he can. “He’s gonna be okay. Probably just passed out from exhaustion like you were saying earlier. You see his chest rising and falling like that? Just means he’s sleeping. Think it could be a good idea to bring him to the hospital, since, uh, that was a pretty far drop, but it’s just precautionary, okay?” 

She sniffles. “Okay”

He gently taps her shoulder since his arms are too preoccupied to rustle up her hair, and he stands to his feet. Just as he’s about to head towards the door, though, another thought comes to him. “One more question, okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah?” 

“This have anything to do with that spooky journal? I couldn’t help but notice he was chasing you around stage trying to take it from you”. 

Her shoulders tense, which is good enough an answer without her even opening her mouth.

“Look, I’m not gonna be mad, okay? Dipper and I talked about this earlier. I’m not gonna take it away if you say yes. I just wanna know the _severity_ of what we’re dealing with here. Don’t even gotta specify which monster it was, if you don’t wanna”

She buries her mouth into the neck of her sweater, and for a moment Stan’s sure she’s not going to answer. He adjusts Dipper in his arms again to prevent him from slipping, but just as he’s about to walk away again she murmurs the quietest _yes_ he’s ever heard.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Okay. We can work with this. Just means he’ll probably be staying for a few hours instead of a quick checkup, okay? Let’s get him to the car”

Mabel squirms a little bit, like there’s something she still isn’t telling him, but she squashes that down and gives him a half-smile. “Okay.” 

The walk to the parking lot isn’t a very long one, but Stan swears it’s the longest the three of them have ever gone without speaking a single word all summer. Sure, Stan will give some of the credit to the fact that Dipper’s currently passed out in his arms, but every other time that he and Mabel have been alone together this summer she’s talked his ears off for nearly an hour straight. 

Not that he’s complaining! He wouldn’t want anyone else to blabber his ears off about things he doesn’t understand. But right now Mabel isn’t speaking a single word. She’s staring at Dipper passed out in his arms like a hawk, like she’s at the ready to catch him if as much as his arm slips out of place. Once they’re back at the car, she opens the back door for Stan to help Dipper inside, and won’t even climb in herself until she’s sure Dipper looks comfortable. 

When Stan climbs into the driver’s seat and adjusts the rear view mirror, he notices that Mabel’s shifted in her seat so Dipper can lie against her to prevent him from falling over and smacking his face into the seat. Stan smiles, and rolls his eyes at the pair as he pulls out of the parking lot. 

About a minute passes before Stan hears the sound of even more shifting around from the back seat, and a tired, raspy voice.

“Grunkle Stan?” Dipper slurs, and blinks slowly two times. “Wha happen? Where are we?” he places a head to his forehead. “Why am I so dizzy?” 

“There you are, kiddo” Stan lowers the rear view mirror so Dipper can see his face better. “Mabel and I were worried sick over when you were gonna wake up”

“Wake...up?” Dipper repeats, like he’s processing each of the words individually. His face pales. “Did I pass out? What day is it? What _year_ is it?”

“Whoa, whoa, let’s not get you worked up and passing out again. It’s only been a few minutes. You passed out walking to the car from Mabel’s puppet show. We’re driving you to the hospital to check and see if you’ve got a concussion or anything”

“Ugh,” Dipper moans. “Good thinking. I already feel like I’m about to pass out again” 

Stan smirks. “Yeah, well, your sister’s right there. Pass out all you want. But if you even start feeling a _little_ nauseous, you’re telling me so I can pull over. I’m not letting anyone blow chunks all over my baby” he taps the dashboard of the car affectionately. Dipper groans again, and leans against Mabel, smushing his face into her shoulder.

“Got it,” he mumbles, and his voice is muffled by the fabric of Mabel’s sweater. His eyes close again, but thankfully this time Stan doesn’t notice them rolling into the back of his head, which means he probably closed them voluntarily to stop the car from spinning. The sound of his breathing increasing in volume concerns Stan for a moment, but when he double checks through the mirror and just sees that he fell asleep, Stan sighs in relief. 

Dipper’s real lucky he decided to faint _after_ the show ended, rather than before, because if they’d left the theater just ten minutes prior they would've been stuck in dinner rush traffic for at least an hour. Thankfully, though, all of that’s passed, and since everyone who came to see Mabel’s show left much earlier than they did, the drive to the hospital is a quick and smooth one.

“You think you can walk in on your own, bro-bro?” Mabel asks as he unclicks herself. “There’s no way I’m letting you in there without me either way, but say the word and I’ll piggyback you in there myself” 

Dipper’s laugh is weak but genuine. “I don’t think they’ll let _either_ of us in if you tried that, Mabel”

“Oh boo,” she pouts. “We never get to use the piggyback maneuver” 

He laughs again. “I’ll tell you what, if they don’t make me stay here overnight, we can use the piggyback maneuver to get out of here” Dipper offers out his hand, and Mabel beams as she takes it in her own.

“It’s a deal!”

Stan clears his throat. “I appreciate the enthusiasm about getting out of here as quickly as possible, but if we don’t get inside soon they’ll make him stay over _just_ for checking him in too late, which means charging us more for no reason, which _nobody_ wants.” 

“...Right, sorry” Dipper mumbles, and stumbles out of the car. Mabel’s beside him in an instant, throwing an arm around his shoulder to help support his balance. He reciprocates the gesture, and the two of them hobble towards the entrance behind Stan. Luck must really be on their side tonight, because there’s not much of a wait in the waiting room lobby of the hospital, either. 

Upon noticing both of the children behind him hobbling in slowly, the receptionist stands to her feet. And maybe it’s Stan’s eyes playing tricks on him, but he swears that she’s staring daggers into him for a moment before she reaches into her desk to pull out an admission form.

“Alright, who are you checking in?”

“The boy,” Stan gestures with his thumb towards Dipper behind him. “His sister’s fine, she’s just helping him walk so he doesn’t pass out” 

The receptionist doesn’t respond. She scribbles something down on the paper. 

“Where’s the worst of his injuries?” 

Uh. 

Stan glances back towards the twins. Dipper’s standing on his own now. He shrugs his shoulders, immediately regrets that decision, and tentatively rubs at his shoulders in a gentle motion. Stan tugs at his collar. 

“Nowhere. Uh, I mean, no, he didn’t have time to specify where. Soon as he passed out uh, at home, I drove him right over here” 

She doesn’t seem to like that answer either. Her mouth forms into a thin, tight line, and she scribbles an even longer sentence down on her paperwork. 

“Did you find him passed out, or did you see how he hurt himself?” 

Stan’s not sure the last time he’s felt this interrogated by someone who wasn’t a police officer. These are standard hospital entry questions, he knows, but there’s something...off about the way this lady is questioning him. 

“Uh, yeah. He, uh…”

_He what? He fell 15 feet from a theater catwalk? He hasn’t slept in three days? He was attacked by some monster he found in the middle of the woods, because he got too caught up in reading a spooky journal he found lying around whose author disappeared under mysterious circumstances?_

“He fell down the stairs! Kid’s so sensitive, he fainted at the sight of his own blood” 

“I see…” the receptionist’s expression remains stone old, until she clicks her pen and places it down in front of her. “Mind if I talk to the kid? I need to ask him a few questions too”

“Uh, sure” Dipper replies from behind him, and steps forward to stand beside Stan. 

“Date of birth?” 

“August thirty-first, nineteen ninety-nine” 

“Cause of injury?” 

Dipper doesn’t hesitate. “It’s like my uncle said. I fell down the stairs” 

“Name?” 

“Dipper Pines” 

She shakes her head. “I said your _name,_ not your nickname” 

Dipper shares a very brief, very confused glance with Stan. “I...just told you. It’s Dipper Pines.”

She audibly sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose. “Listen, kid, I don’t have time to joke around. There are hundreds of other patients in this hospital, and I don’t appreciate you taking my time away from them because you won’t give me your real-”

“He’s _not_ joking” Stan interrupts her before she can finish that sentence. “And _I_ don’t appreciate you trying to tell my nephew what his name is or isn’t. If he insists that his name is Dipper Pines, that means his name is Dipper Pines”

She’s staring daggers into him again, before she sighs and sits back down in her swivel chair. She rolls herself over to the computer where she prints out Dipper’s wristband for him, and gestures towards the hallway to the left of the lobby. “Alright, then, Pines family, come with me” 

She leads them down a fair number of different hallways until she brings them to a room with a single bed in it. Dipper is quick to climb into the bed and under the covers, and Mabel is equally quick to pull up a chair beside him. She leans in real close to whisper something to him, something Stan can’t hear, but the journal is unmistakable when she pulls it out from under her sweater and slides it under his pillow. 

Stan can’t help but smile.

Those kids never change, do they?

“Don’t get too comfortable,” the receptionist says, once she looks up from her clipboard and notices that Dipper’s already lying in bed. “I have to go submit this paperwork, but a nurse is gonna come by and take you to radiology so they can give you an X-ray and check for any fractures or breaks, okay?” 

Dipper sits up, his hair somehow already affected with bedhead. “Okay”

Just as the receptionist turns heel to leave, Stan speaks up as well. “And, uh, I’m gonna run to the cafeteria to get some coffee. I’ll be right back”

He follows the receptionist out of the room, and just as they’re out of ear and eyeshot of the twins, he taps her on the shoulder. “Hey, mind if we talk?”

“Mister Pines, I don’t have time for this”.

“It’ll be quick, I promise,” he says, and removes his fez to demonstrate the sincerity of the statement. 

She sighs, but tucks the clipboard under her arm and leans against the wall. “Fine. What do you need?” 

Stan fidgets with the tassels of his fez. 

“I know what you’re insinuating” 

“What?” 

“I know what you’re insinuating about the kid. Look, I know the injuries look bad, and the story doesn’t make any sense, but I promise that it’s not what you think it is. Those kids’ parents trusted me over any of their other relatives to take care of them for the summer. They’ve been staying with me for a little under two months now.” 

Stan’s not typically an anxious person, not in the least. But even the _thought_ that the hospital could let one bad lie slip and send the kids back to California by tomorrow terrifies him to his very core. 

“I love those kids in that room more than anything else in the world. I’m getting older and don’t have much, but those two are the light of my life. I’m not the kind to go around telling strangers my life story, but I need you to understand that I’d _never_ do anything to hurt them. I’ve been through that wringer enough times myself to never wish that kind of treatment on anybody.” 

There’s a deafening silence, as she reads his face like she’s searching for a lie.

“Please,” he murmurs, even though the word still makes his chest burn.

She sighs, taking another glance at her clipboard. “It checks out. I could see you three talking in the parking lot before you came in. He seems perfectly happy. I’m so sorry I was being so accusatory.”

Stan waves a dismissive hand as he puts his fez back on. “Eh, I’ve been accused of a lot of things” he shrugs, and reaches into his coat pocket for a wallet. “But just so we’re clear, this conversation never happened” he pulls a fifty out, and gestures vaguely towards her clipboard. “And _that_ never happened either. You let any misinformation on that clipboard slip and I’m suing the hospital for malpractice.”

Her face pales. “Understood,” she replies, swiping the fifty from him before starting her way back to reception.

Stan watches her go for a few moments, just to be sure that she’s not going back on her words, before he turns heel and heads towards the arrows pointing out the cafeteria. With all the adrenaline from driving Dipper over and checking him in gone, Stan’s finally come to the realization that he hasn’t eaten in a few hours. 

He knows, realistically, that he can’t leave the kids alone in that hospital room for long. But Stan _also_ knows how hospitals work, and how they can only bring so many meals to so many patients so quickly. He’s not even sure he remembers the last time he saw Dipper eating _anything_ in the past few days, and he knows if they try poking his arms with shot needles and IVs without any food in him the kid’s gonna black out for sure.

As he’s passing the fridge full of cold sandwiches on the way to the coffee machine, Stan grabs the thickest ham and cheese sandwich he can find, and a bag of barbecue chips from the rack beside it. Beside the coffee dispensers is a small display of wrapped baked sweets, and once he picks out a toffee brownie and makes himself an extra-large cup of coffee, he hauls his load over to the checkout. 

“Long day?” The cafeteria employee asks. 

“More like a long _week”_ Stan replies, pulling his wallet out of his pocket again. “Most of this stuff’s for my nephew, though. Poor kid hasn’t gotten to eat all day” 

“Yeah, hospitals will do that to some people” they reply as they punch their numbers into the cash register. The screen dings with the total amount. “Hope he gets better soon”

Stan grabs his haul in one arm and drops the money on the counter in the other. “I’m hoping too,” he says, and without another word he’s on his way back to the kids’ room. He gently shoves the door open with his shoulder, and when he turns to hand Dipper his food, he notices that he’s fast asleep in the bed with the journal opened face down at the foot of his bed.

“How’s he doing?” Stan asks as he takes the seat beside Mabel. “He pass out again?”

“Nah,” Mabel shrugs. “Finally convinced ol Dipdop to take a nap. Willing to bet this being his first time in a bed in over twenty four hours also had something to do with it too”

Stan laughs, taking a sip from his coffee. “Nice try, kiddo. But the nurse is coming by to take him to his X-ray in about five minutes, so it won’t be much of one”

“Oh, boo” Mabel crosses her arms. “I was so sure that he’d be out long enough to sneak him out and bring him home early”

Stan laughs again, and there’s a light knocking on the door as a nurse walks in. The noise startles Dipper awake, and he sits up, stretching his arms. “Am I all done? Are we going home?” he asks, and his voice is groggy from his short nap.

“Fraid not, kiddo” Stan replies, reaching a hand over to ruffle up his already messy hair. “You still gotta go and do your X-ray and sit through a bunch of boring tests first. Could still be a few hours”

Dipper flops back against the pillow, groaning the same way he would if Stan had just asked him to clean out the attic. Stan chuckles, but the nurse clears her throat before he can say anything in return. 

“I don’t mean to rush you two out of the room, but we really have to move things along”, she says, tapping at her wrist. “If you could wait in the waiting room we’ll gladly call you back in when he’s all done”.

Mabel’s the first to jump from her seat, grabbing the journal from Dipper’s bed on her way out the door. The walk back to the waiting room is a near silent one, and at first sight of a chair she climbs on board and hugs her knees to her chest. Reaching under her sweater, she pulls out Journal 3, and holds that close to her chest as well. 

If he looks close enough, her hands look like they’re trembling.

Stan takes a seat beside her. “Something on your mind, sweetie?”

Her face flushes pink, and she buries her mouth into the collar of her sweater. “Grunkle Stan?” she pauses a moment to turn her pleading brown eyes towards him. “Is Dipper going to be okay?”

Stan blinks. “Of course he is, sweetie. What makes you ask that?”

Her blush darkens, and she buries herself even further in her sweater.

“I mean…” she twiddles with her fingers. “Dipper and I have gotten hurt a bunch of times fighting the supernatural over the summer, and this is the _only_ time either of us have been hospitalized for it?” She hugs the journal even closer. “I just...I can’t imagine why that would be unless all _those_ times were okay, and _this_ time we messed up real bad and I underestimated how he was feeling”

Now _Stan’s_ the one blushing, because he can imagine _exactly_ why they hadn’t taken a single trip to the hospital since arriving. 

When Dipper came back to the shack from the woods the first afternoon the twins had arrived, Stan was the one who patched up his cuts and cleaned up his scratches. When he’d come home from _supposedly_ getting into a fight with one of Wendy’s friends, Stan had been the one to give him some home remedy tips he’d had left over from his boxing days. Even when he’d just had a bad day, and didn’t need any medical attention at all, it was Stan who intervened.

If Dipper hadn’t passed out walking out to the car, Stan wonders if he’d come to him for help this time around, too. 

“I’m sure he’ll be better than okay, sweetheart. You said it yourself. You and him have been fighting these monsters all summer and you’ve walked away from them fine.” Stan smiles. “Matter of fact-” he starts, fully intent on telling her everything, but before he can get another word out the nurse from before pokes her head from around the corner.

“Pines family?”

Stan and Mabel jump to their feet at the same time. “How is he?” they ask, also in perfect synchrony.

“He’s fine, just resting in his room while he waits for his x-ray results. I told him he could have the time to rest up by himself, but he insisted that I come back because he wants to talk to you guys instead,” she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You really ought to fix that sleeping schedule of his fixed”

“Trust me,” Mabel says. “I’ve been trying to get him to work on that for _years”._

When they get back into the room, Dipper’s sitting up in the bed munching on the bag of barbecue chips, with the half-opened sandwich pack sitting on his chest.

“Hey, buddy” Stan waves a hello before he reaches to open the sandwich for him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired,” Dipper groans, and takes a giant bite out of the fattest part of his sandwich. “Starving” 

“Yeah, we didn’t need the hospital to tell us _that._ How did the tests go?” 

“Oh,” Dipper replies through a mouthful of sandwich, and wipes some excess honey mustard off of his face with his now-bandaged wrist. “They didn’t think they saw anything, but they’re gonna give me stitches so my cuts won’t reopen” 

Mabel frowns. “Are they gonna make you stay overnight?” 

“Nah,” Dipper shrugs. “Just for a few hours. If the rest of it really _is_ paperwork, I’m gonna try to sneak in a nap or three before then” 

The same nurse comes knocking on the wall again. “Sorry, one more time.” She says, and when she comes inside she’s followed in by a doctor. “I’m sure he’s already told you, but all we have to do now is stitch up some of those cuts, and then he should be good to go” she flips through the stack of papers in her hand. “There’s nothing in the x-ray that could indicate breaks or fractures, so the only follow up you’ll need is to have the stitches removed in a few weeks.”

She checks her wristwatch. “A lot of patients prefer to be alone when they get stitches so they don’t get too fidgety and distracted, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave one more time. I think the cafeteria should still be open for another half an hour if you wanted to grab food. I’m more than sure he’ll be all done by the time you finish eating”

Despite Stan being in the cafeteria just a few minutes before, it seems much quieter now. He’s willing to chalk that up to the fact that he’d been in a hurry and probably also going into sensory overload from all of the uncertainty of Dipper’s condition. But now that they’re certain he’s coming home tonight, and they don’t _have_ to sit in the waiting room anymore, Stan can feel every last nerve in his body relaxing at once.

He turns to Mabel, holding out a five dollar bill. “Here you go, sweetie, buy yourself something nice”.

“Five dollars?” Mabel snatches the bill from him, beaming. “I’m rich! I’m gonna buy one of everything!” She squeals, and bounces off towards the kitchen. Stan smiles as he watches her go.

The list of things he’d do for these kids is endless, he swears.

He finds a table to finish off his coffee and his toffee brownie, and soon enough Mabel comes slinking slowly out of the kitchen with a large bowl of soup, moving like she’s afraid that if she drops the bowl it’s gonna flood out the entire cafeteria and lead them all to their brothy demise, or something.

Stan’s chest warms at the thought.

“Hey!” she grins once she sits down. “Sorry that took so long. They told me I could take the rest of the soup since they were shutting it down for the night and I may have gone a little cray-cray with it”

Stan chuckles, dismissing the comment altogether, until she rolls up her sleeves to eat and she notices that her arms are spotted with bruises and scratches, too. 

“Hey, uh…mind if I take a look at those?” he gestures to her arms. “Might save us a trip if you need stitches from falling from the catwalk, too”

“Oh, uh…” she hesitates, rubbing at her arms for a moment. “...sure!” she half-smiles, and rolls up her sleeves before offering her arms to him. He takes them gently in his hands, turning them over to check for any deep cuts or splinters.

“Mmm, doesn’t look to _me_ like you’re gonna need stitches, but some lotion and a bandage or two couldn’t hurt. Should still have some of both left over in the car if you don’t feel like waiting until we get home”

“Left over from what?” Mabel cocks her head to the side, but before Stan can even open his mouth to respond, her eyes go wide and she gasps in realization.

“Grunkle Stan, have _you_ been the one taking care of Dipper all this time?”

He leans back in his chair, laughing. “What, have you been thinking that all this time Dipper’s been taking care of _himself?_ Kid wouldn’t be able to win a fight against a punching bag if his life depended on-”

He’s cut off by Mabel nearly knocking him off his chair in a hug.

“Grunkle Stan, you big _softie!”_ she squeals, and his cheek flush pink as he pats her head in response.

“Yeah, yeah, okay” he rolls his eyes to divert eye contact. “How’s about you finish up that soup so we can head back and bring your brother home? I’m sure he’d much rather fall asleep in his own bed then in that stuffy old hospital bed”

“Okay!” she grins, pulling herself away from the hug. “I don’t think _anyone_ can realistically finish this much soup in one sitting, though, so I’m just gonna smuggle this out to the car in a to-go cup so I can eat it in bed later”

“Hah!” Stan ruffles her hair. “That’s my girl.” He stands to his feet and stretches his back. “But seriously, we have to leave before it gets too late. Apparently it’s “illegal” for me to drive too close to the town border after midnight, whatever that means”

She snickers, moving to grab a to-go cup from the coffee dispensers near the entrance. “Before we head back to Dipper’s room, though, you think I can stop over to the vending machine? He mentioned wanting a candy bar when you went to get your coffee, but I think you were too far away to hear it. Do you mind?” she holds out her hand for another dollar bill, and Stan swears if anyone else on the planet kept asking him for money he’d just laugh in their face.

But…if she runs off to the lobby, that means that he could have a moment alone with Dipper. Stan wants answers about what happened today, and Mabel’s not budging.

“Fine,” he grumbles, reaching into his wallet for a single dollar bill. “But only _one._ ”

She beams, taking the bill from him and sprinting her way down the hallway. “Thanks Grunkle Stan!” she yells after him, waving a hand in the air. He smiles after her, and once she’s out of his sight he shoves his hands in his pockets and starts making his way back to Dipper’s room.

When he knocks on Dipper’s door and invites himself in, he’s sipping from a plastic cup of ice water. “Where’s Mabel?”

“Raiding the vending machine for you. How’d all this go?”

Dipper’s cheeks flush. “Well, uh, it was going great! It was going _so_ well when they came in the room and started talking to me, but, uh…” he takes another sip of his water and evades eye contact. “…I blacked out as soon as the needle hit my skin, so they had to wake me up and bring me some water so it wouldn’t happen again”

Stan snorts. “Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t keep running around picking fights with monsters six times your size, you wouldn’t need stitches in the first place”

Dipper frowns into his plastic cup, and murmurs something that Stan can’t hear.

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“I said it wasn’t like that,” Dipper murmurs, nervously crinkling with his cup. “I-I mean, in the past, sure, maybe, but it really wasn’t this time! All that was happening was that I got too caught up in my research trying to figure out the password for the laptop we found last week, and I couldn’t bring myself to hurt Mabel’s feelings and ignore her project to work on it during the day, so I ended up spending at least four nights straight trying to solve it at night, and the night before the show I tried moving up to the roof so she wouldn’t wake up, but then I-”

“Whoa, whoa, back up. _What_ laptop?”

Dipper’s cheeks burn red. “D-did I say laptop? I, uh, I meant the journal! We were investigating the journal”

Stan sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Dips, what did I _tell_ you about keeping these kinds of secrets from me? I don’t care if you found a laptop, or a game station, I don’t even care if you found _Bigfoot._ I’m not gonna take it away from you and lock it up forever. I want you to tell me these things because I need to know if it’s something you need _protecting_ from. I’d never forgive myself if anything serious ever happened to _both_ of you because you kept me in the dark one time too many. I shouldn’t have to be asking your sister how you got hurt while we’re driving to the _hospital.”_

Dipper’s face is flush with embarrassment. “I…” he says, staring down at his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry”

Stan sighs. “Look, I know I’m not the gentlest person you know. I know a lot of these townsfolk think I’m crooked. But I don’t want you to feel bad about this, okay? I guess I just must’ve inherited some of the tough talk from my dad”

He nearly flinches at the comparison, but he buries that down for a conversation at another time.

“I love you kids. You know that, right? All I wanna do is keep you safe”.

Dipper painstakingly pushes himself up into a sitting position, and reaches for Stan to wrap his arms around him in a hug. “I know,” he sighs, and if he hadn’t been hugging the kid back, Stan’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to hear him murmur “ _We love you too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for taking this journey with me! I don't have a set date planned for the last chapter, so this is a huge huge thank you to everyone who's stuck it with me since the very beginning. You guys are the real all-stars <3


	6. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Seeing Stan's memory erased is the only time any of us have ever seen Ford cry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this chapter makes six! I would like to give a personal thank you to every one of my readers who has stuck with me through this story from the very chapter, and all of my friends on discord for encouraging me to keep writing in times where I thought I was going to give up. This story marks the first multi-chapter fic I've already sought through to the very end, and it makes me so, so happy that all of you are here to experience it with me. 
> 
> Thank you once again for taking this journey to me, and we're wrapping up this arc with Weirdmageddon 3.

The soft, desperate sound of choked sobs is unmistakable as it slices through the quiet night air like a knife. Dipper’s eyes pop open at the sound, and he sits up in his sleeping bag in the living room. _He hadn’t been crying in his sleep, had he?_ He brings a tentative hand to pat as his cheeks, but no, they’re perfectly dry.

But…if that hadn’t been _him,_ then…

He turns his glance towards Mabel’s sleeping bag beside his. She sure _looks_ like she’s asleep, but she’s got her back turned towards him, and he knows for a fact that’s usually a sign that she’s hiding something.

“Mabel?” he whispers loudly. “Are you okay?”

She jumps, but when she shifts to face him she doesn’t look like she’d been crying either. “That’s not you?” She squints towards him as she sits up. “I’ve been sitting here for like, five minutes trying to figure out how to wake you up without scaring you”

“But…” Dipper shakes his head. “What else could it be?”

Mabel scratches at her head. “Maybe the unicorn barrier broke and the shack itself is crying?”

Dipper shakes his head. “Couldn’t be. Grunkle Ford said that if everything reset after Weirdmageddon then the unicorn barrier should’ve come back too”

“Not _everything”_ she murmurs into her sleeping bag, and Dipper sighs as he turns his glance towards Stan’s recliner.

Which is…empty.

_When it hadn’t been when they fell asleep._

Dipper’s up to his feet before he knows it, and between one blink and the next Mabel is on her feet too. “Where do you think he could’ve gone? Do you know how _dangerous_ it is for Stan to be wandering around town like _this?_ At _this_ time of night?”

He doesn’t realize he’s pacing back and forth until he feels Mabel’s hand gently gripping at his shoulder. “Woah, take it easy there, bro-bro. I’m sure we’re just overthinking things. I mean, he couldn’t have gone that far in two hours, right?”

“Mabel! You’re not helping!” he starts pacing back and forth again. “He could be _anywhere!_ He could walk right into the lake and drown, or into the manotaur cave, or-”

“In the kitchen?”

“What?”

Mabel points towards the kitchen lights that’ve been flicked on. Dipper takes her hand in his own and runs towards the kitchen before she has time to protest. Stan’s nowhere in sight, but Ford is sitting at the table with his head buried in his arms. At first glance, Dipper would think he must’ve fallen asleep writing additions in his journal again, but at a second, closer look, he can see that his shoulders are trembling. If he really listens, he can hear the hitched breaths barely escaping him.

Dipper takes a cautious step towards him. “Grunkle Ford?”

Ford bolts upright, messily scrubbing at his eyes. “Dipper?”

“And Mabel” Mabel waves hello, and takes a seat at the table beside Ford. “Is everything okay, Grunkle Ford?” She places a gentle hand on his arm, and a broken sigh escapes him as he reaches a hand to hers and squeezes it gently. He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s milliseconds away from breaking down again.

“I’ve tried everything,” he swallows. “I’ve tried reverse engineering the memory gun, I’ve tried showing him pages from our old high school yearbook, I’ve even tried…” he exhales sharply. “I’ve even tried bringing him downstairs to see if…coming into contact with any of the portal remains would be enough to trigger a tactile memory, but nothing’s working.” He buries his face back into his arms, muttering an indecipherable self-deprecating comment into the sleeve of his sweater.

Dipper takes a seat on the other side of Ford, and shares a melancholy glance with Mabel. She nods, and he places a gentle hand on Ford’s shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t reciprocate the gesture either. “Hey, Grunkle Ford? What if Mabel and I took over for a little bit?”

“We ate a ton of Grunkle Stan’s apocalypse meat before we came to rescue you from the Fearamid, and we’ve been asleep for the past two hours. Now, I may not have been turned into a gold statue myself, but it didn’t look to me like you were getting any sleep when you were petrified in place for like, three days”

A soft chuckle escapes Ford as he sits up and wipes at his eyes with his wrist. “Thank you, but…” he shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask for your help” He twines his hands together. “You’ve already been through enough as it is because of me”

“Nonsense,” Mabel insists, standing to tug Ford to his feet. He complies, and she begins dragging him towards Stan’s bedroom. A quick glance over her shoulder at Dipper, and he’s standing to his feet to take Ford’s unoccupied hand in his own. “You take the night off. Dipper and I can take over and sleep in shifts until you’re rested enough to take over for us”

“Are you sure?” Ford frowns as he steps through the doorway of Stan’s bedroom. “I’d hate to burden you with such an emotionally tolling responsibility”

Mabel pulls her hand away from Ford’s to pull back the blankets on the bed and pats at the pillow. Ford’s lips twitch downward like he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but his exhausted body moves on autopilot and makes that decision for him. He practically flops over on the bed, and Mabel smiles as she covers him back up with the blanket.

“You can never be a burden to us, Grunkle Ford” Mabel whispers, and leans to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Besides! Dipper and I are used to this. We’ve been taking care of Grunkle Stan and keeping him out of danger practically all summer.” She delicately reaches to remove his glasses for him, and places them on Stan’s nightstand. She places a gentle hand on Ford’s shoulder, and turns towards Dipper.

“You think you can take the first shift with Stan? Something tells me he won’t fall asleep unless someone stays in here with him.”

Dipper’s glance turns to Ford. His eyes are still red and puffy from crying, and there’s a miserable expression plastered to his face. His chest is rising and falling in a scattered pattern, like one poorly-phrased sentence is all it’ll take to push him over the edge again.

“Sure,” Dipper replies, placing a gentle hand beside Mabel’s on Ford’s shoulder. “I’ll yell if anything goes wrong, okay? Where is he?”

“In my study room” Ford’s reply is muffled by his pillow. “I was going to bring him in here, but...” he squishes his face even further into the pillow. “I just didn’t have the heart to step foot in here alone”

_Oh._

Dipper sighs. “I get it. I don’t think I would’ve had the heart to bring him in here either,” he takes a knee so he can make better eye contact with Ford. “But honestly, from me and Mabel both, thank you so much for what you’ve already done for him. I think he appreciates it a lot”

The laugh that escapes Ford’s lips is cold and bitter. “ _Thank you,_ ” he echoes. “And here I thought those words couldn’t possibly hurt me any more than they already have”

Dipper’s sure Ford probably hadn’t meant to say that loud enough for him to hear, so instead of responding Dipper leans forward and throws his arms around Ford in a hug. Ford doesn’t reciprocate, but he doesn’t quite pull away from the gesture either. “I’ll come back to see how you’re doing in a few hours if you’re still awake, okay?” he whispers as he gives Ford an affectionate squeeze before he stands to his feet. Without waiting for a response he knows isn’t coming, Dipper turns heel and walks out the door.

Stan’s sitting up straight with his hands folded neatly together when Dipper steps into the room. “Hey!” he flashes a grin, but it quickly falls when he struggles to come up with a name. “…Where’d the tall guy go? Y’know, the guy who looks like he hasn’t slept in years?”

Dipper can’t help the laugh that escapes him. It’s reassuring that his sense of humor is just as harsh as it’s always been, that’s for sure. “Just fell asleep, if you’re willing to believe” he steps forward and takes a seat beside Stan on the couch. “He thought it’d be a good idea if someone came in and checked in on you, though”

“Oh.” Stan’s lip is a tight line, like he knows Dipper isn’t telling him the complete truth. “I dunno. Think I’m starting to get a headache from all these questions. Was gettin’ close to playing along and pretending I knew what he was talking about before he suddenly stood up and walked out of the room without a word about where he was going”

“I see…” Dipper’s voice trails off awkwardly, and he shakes his head. “Okay, but what about…physically? Is there anything I can help you with in that department?”

_“Oof,”_ Stan practically collapses back against the couch, like just asking was enough to make every muscle in his body ache at once. “Was starting to wonder when someone would ask. S’kinda awkward to ask for a cup of water when you’re surrounded by people who start sobbing every time you make eye contact with them, am I right?” He gently nudges Dipper with his elbow, but his expression falls when Dipper does not start laughing with him.

“Right, I can imagine,” Dipper flashes him a fake smile to spare Stan’s feelings, and stands to his feet. “Anything else, while I’m already out of the room?”

“ _Medicine,_ if you’ve got any” Stan groans. “I’ve had a killer headache for the past hour. Feels like I’ve been shot to the head” he dramatically brings his wrist to his forehead, and Dipper tries his hardest to choke down the sob that builds in his throat at his choice of phrasing. Turns out it didn’t matter either way, because when he notices the horrible burn marks all over his wrist and hand the sound escapes him anyway.

“Oh my gosh, Stan, your wrist!” Dipper cries, collapsing to his knees at the sight. He reaches for Stan’s wrist, pauses for a moment, but decides it’d probably be better to leave them alone. “No wonder you have a headache! Anyone else would’ve passed out from that kind of burn _ten minutes ago!”_

“My wrist?” Stan stares at him blankly for a moment, before pulling his wrist from his forehead to look at it. “Huh,” he says nonchalantly. “Guess I was too busy being interrogated by the guy in the red turtleneck to notice”

Dipper stands to leave, and pauses in the doorway. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move”

Stan huffs. “I don’t have that many options as far as _places to go,_ kid”

“Right, right…” Dipper murmurs, and pats the doorframe as he rounds the corner. As he walks towards the kitchen, he nearly collides with Mabel slinking her way out of Stan’s bedroom.

“How is he?” she asks, folding her hands together.

Dipper scrubs a hand down his face. “Just as bad as Grunkle Ford said. How’s Grunkle Ford doing? I thought he didn’t want to be alone”

“Oh, he doesn’t! I just wanted to get him an extra blanket and Waddles to keep him extra company”

Dipper smirks. “I don’t know how comfortable he’d be with a _pig_ crawling into bed with him”

Mabel gasps. “Waddles is a _gentleman!_ Don’t knock cuddling him to sleep ‘til you try it. Besides, if Waddles already loves Stan, I’m sure it’s only inevitable that he’ll love Ford, too!”

“Yeah, well good luck convincing _Ford_ of that”

“Will do!” she grins, and bounces off in the opposite direction.

Dipper rolls his eyes affectionately, and makes his way towards the bathroom to grab the burn cream and ace bandages. Dipper knew that Bill’s hand always became engulfed with blue flames each time he shook hands with somebody to make a deal, but he never knew those flames could ever cause any real harm to those who shook his hand. Even when he shook Bill’s hand the morning of Mabel’s puppet show, the flames to him felt ice cold, as if he were coming into contact with a ghost.

Though, Dipper recalls with a shudder, that very well could’ve just as easily been the feeling of his own soul being ripped from his body.

He shakes that thought off by slamming the medicine cupboard shut. No, that’s not important right now. He’s got plenty of time to have an existential crisis about that later. He pockets the medicine and bandages and slams the bathroom door shut on his way out for extra measures.

“Took you long enough,” Stan smirks when he comes back into the room. “Was starting to think that you fell asleep on me too”

Dipper hums in acknowledgement, and takes a knee again. He pops open the cover of the burn cream, and wordlessly offers out his hand to Stan. Stan frowns, but complies and places his hand on top of Dipper’s. For a few moments the two of them sit in silence as Dipper covers the worst of Stan’s burn in cream, until Stan suddenly clears his throat.

“Hey…” he pauses for a brief moment. “…Dipper, thanks for uh, helping me out. Don’t mean to come across as aggressive. I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable.”

Dipper’s about to brush the comment off with a quick _“It’s fine, I get it,”,_ but his heart nearly stops in his chest when he fully processes what Stan just said.

“What did you just call me?” he asks, and can’t seem to keep the shake out of his voice.

“Dipper?” Stan shrugs, and taps at his own forehead. “Y’got a mark on your forehead that looks like the big dipper, I figured that’s an easier nickname to remember then just calling you _kid_ ”

“…Oh” Dipper’s half-smile slips off his face, and Stan’s expression falls as well.

“What, do kids at school bully you with that nickname? There something else you want me to call you instead?”

“ _No_!” Dipper nearly shouts, and his cheeks tint pink as he clears his throat to correct himself. “I mean no, Dipper’s fine”. He clicks the container of the burn cream shut, and places it down on the ground beside him as he begins wrapping Stan’s wrist with the bandage. “Kids at school tend to call me everything _but_ Dipper. I’m just lucky my sister is less afraid of getting detention for punching a kid in the face then I am”

“Hah!” Stan barks, slapping the armrest of the couch with his uninjured hand. “That reminds me of a story from when I was a kid. Y’see-” he starts, but as soon as he shifts his position to get more comfortable he’s overcome with a sudden violent coughing fit. He curls in on himself, and Dipper doesn’t miss the way he’s tightly gripping at his chest.

…What was that advice Stan had given him about rib injuries earlier this summer? Dipper scratches at his head, looking around the room for some sort of reminder, and his eyes fall on a couch cushion that’s been kicked to the ground.

That’s _right._

“Here,” Dipper hands him the cushion. “Someone told me that holding these to your chest while you cough will make it hurt less,” he says, and gestures with a thumb towards the kitchen. “I’ll go see if the fridge is still working so I can bring you an ice pack”

Stan raises an eyebrow, but takes the cushion from Dipper and places it against his chest. “What, you some kind of doctor in training or somethin’?”

“No,” Dipper shrugs as he backs out of the door. “Just learned from a pretty great caretaker, is all” 

As Dipper rounds the corner towards the kitchen, he notices the door to Stan’s bedroom is cracked open. He peeks his head inside, and sure enough, Waddles is curled up on the bed, fast asleep underneath Ford’s arm. Mabel is sitting in a chair that she pulled up beside them, her eyes interchangeably fluttering open and closed. 

He knocks lightly on the doorframe so as not to wake Ford. “ _Pssst, Mabel!”_

She jumps, rubbing at her eyes. “Dipper? Is it time to swap shifts already?”

“Not yet,” he shakes his head. “But I need to talk to you.”

“Oh,” she hops off of her chair, and closes the door gently behind her as she follows Dipper into the hallway. “Okay, but make it quick before Waddles senses I’m missing and wakes Grunkle Ford” 

“That’s just the thing,” Dipper whispers. “It’s about Grunkle Stan”

_“What?”_ she whisper-shouts. “What happened to him? Is he okay?”

Dipper raises his hands in the air defensively. “Nothing! Nothing happened to him, he’s fine” he rubs at the back of his neck. “Better then fine, actually. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but I think he’s starting to get his memory back”

Mabel’s eyes go huge. “ _Really?”_ she nearly shouts, before slamming her hand over her mouth. She grabs Dipper’s hand and drags him into the kitchen. “ _Really?”_ she asks again, quieter this time. “That’s great! What makes you say that?”

“Well I can’t say for _sure,_ ” Dipper opens the freezer door and feels around for a bag of frozen peas. “But…he just called me Dipper” he tosses a half-empty bag back and forth in his hands to judge its temperature. “And I think he was going to tell me a story about Grunkle Ford just before I left the room”

“That’s great!” Mabel grins. “How’d you get it out of him? I thought Grunkle Ford said he’d tried everything!”

“He did,” Dipper takes a seat at the table. “That’s why I don’t want to get my hopes up. All I did was just…let him talk” he sighs. “I want to be just as excited about this as you, but…I don’t want it to turn out to just be one big coincidence”

Mabel takes a seat at the table beside him. “There must be _something_ we’re missing. What did Grunkle Ford say he already tried?”

“He showed him every page of their high school yearbook, Mabel, I’m not sure we can get any more direct then that”

“Hmmm…” Mabel taps at her chin, taking a glance around the room as if the answer’s going to be right in the room with them. A minute passes before she stops, and turns to Dipper in the arm. “That’s _it!_ Dipper, I’ve figured it out!”

“You have?”

“Yeah!” She beams. “Dipper, don’t you see? The reason nothing worked with Grunkle Ford is because it was too _much!_ Reading him an entire yearbook? Bringing him downstairs to the lab and rambling on about an interdimensional portal? It’s no _wonder_ Stan hasn’t been able to pay attention! He needs to figure these things out one at a time, not all at once!”

Dipper gasps. “That’s why he kept complaining about having a headache! He was processing too much information in one go! Mabel, you’re a genius!”

“Pssh,” Mabel waves a hand in the air. “I know”

Dipper hops down from the chair and walks to open the pantry door. He pushes aside what’s left of the canned meat and the boxes of pasta, and grins when he finds what he’s looking for. “Aha!” he beams, pulling an unopened bag of toffee peanuts and a can of Pitt Cola out of the pantry. “Thanks Mabel!” he shouts, and grabs the bag of frozen peas off of the table as he sprints back to Ford’s study room.

* * *

“Hey,” Dipper says as he pushes his way back into Ford’s study room. “Sorry that took so long, I was trying to multitask and get you some food, but this is all we could find”. Dipper drops the bag of peas onto the couch carelessly, and offers the bag of toffee peanuts and the can of soda directly to Stan.

Stan’s eyes go wide at the sight, and he snatches the bag out of Dipper’s hand, ravenously tearing it open. “You _kiddin’?_ ” he shovels a handful of toffee peanuts into his mouth. “I’d kill for these things. Haven’t had ‘em since…” he pauses, the bag dropping carelessly to his lap. He scratches at his head, his face scrunching up in a blend of concentration and confusion, before he sits back against the backrest of the couch. “…Since I was a kid, at least”

“Yeah?” Dipper sits on the couch beside Stan, handing him his makeshift ice pack. “What was that like?”

Stan snorts. “What, the last time I had toffee peanuts? Surprised I remember them at all, since Pa always said no when I asked for ‘em. How am I supposed to remember how I felt when I always had to sneak my allowance out of the house to buy ‘em at all?”

It’s _working._

Dipper laughs, shaking his head. “I meant your childhood, but if you _want_ to go into the minute details, then be my guest” He shifts in his seat to turn towards Stan. “What about the story you were about to tell me before I left the room?”

Stan grins, and he shifts in his chair too, careful to keep his ice pack in its place. “Well, I took a lotta boxing classes as a kid, y’see? Pa thought it would be good if I learned to defend myself, ‘cause he was sick of seein’ me come home with black eye after black eye. But what Pa _doesn’t_ know is that the reason I was comin’ home with them at all is because I was already defending myself _plenty._ ” He puffs out his chest as best he can. “All those classes were doing was teaching me how to throw even _harder_ punches at those bullies. But wouldn’t ya know it? I didn’t tell a soul at school I was takin’ those classes at all. So one day when I was about eleven years old, Crampelter and his gang were harassing my brother, so I-”

The cocky grin on Stan’s face falls off of his face and shatters to the ground in thousands of broken pieces. His face goes through about a dozen different expressions in a number of seconds, and his eyes are darting around the room like he’s looking desperately for something that isn’t there.

“My-my _brother,_ he-” Stan stutters, tightly gripping at the cushions of the couch. “ _Years_ later, he sent me this…this postcard, and I-” he holds his hands out in front of him like he’s holding the ghost of it in his hands, and violently shakes his head. He turns his gaze towards Dipper again, and his chest is rising and falling rapidly like he’s in the midst of a panic attack. He holds out his hands, and they’re trembling. “Wh-what’s happening to me?”

“Woah, woah, Stan, you’re okay! Everything’s okay” Dipper grips his shaking hands. “Just…keep going. Keep telling me about your brother”

Stan sighs. “He’s more than just my brother, kid. He’s my _twin_ brother. He sent me this postcard telling me to get to his place as urgently as possible, but then there was this big fight, and…” his voice drifts off. “ _It’s all my fault,”_ he whispers urgently, dropping his head in his hands.

Dipper frowns, unsure what to do. He knows he can’t just wake up Ford and bring him in the room, because that’s just going to cause Stan to panic even more. He’ll think he’s dreaming, or that Ford is some kind of guilt-induced hallucination. The most he can do is get Stan to keep talking, because if he keeps talking and keeps remembering it’s only inevitable that he’ll remember Ford is okay too.

Dipper scooches closer to Stan on the couch, and gently places a hand on Stan’s leg, wordlessly encouraging him to continue. Stan flinches at the gentle gesture, but messily scrubs at his face with his wrist as he clears his throat. “He got sucked into this…portal…thingy. I tried for hours to turn it back on, but nothing budged.” He shakes his head. “So I had to resort to the only option I had left. He’s a scientist, y’see? And he kept all his research in a series of journals. I figured he had to have the blue prints for the portal somewhere in those things. So I searched, and I searched, and I put the thing back together with what I had, but…” he trails off. “I haven’t seen him since”

“Well…” Dipper starts, trying to encourage him to _keep remembering._ “What’ve you been doing since? You can’t just be spending every day trying to get it to work, right?”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Whaddya take me for, some kind of hermit? I still gotta earn money to feed myself somehow, and if my time living in…” he pauses. “Uh, acting…college. Yeah. If I’ve learned anything from acting school, it’s how to con suckers out of their money. So I turned my brother’s house into a tourist trap to scam the suckers who live here into paying my bills for me.”

He shakes his head, and a warm smile overtakes his face. “It was gettin’ real monotonous, lemme tell ‘ya. Then wouldn’t you know it? Just as I was starting to give up hope, I get a phone call from a hospital in California telling me to get down there as soon as I could. Figured I had nothing left to lose, so I closed down shop for a few days and made the eight hour drive to California myself.”

Stan’s tearing up again. “And wouldn’t you know it? My niece-in law had _twins._ A boy and a girl” he nudges Dipper. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say they’re about your age, kid. Wonder if you’d get along with them. Now, they named the boy _Mason,_ but they didn’t call him that when they were talking to family. They wanted to distinguish him from his sister, y’see, and he had a real funny looking birthmark on his forehead, so they called him-”

And all at once, he’s going through the same motions he had when he’d first mentioned Ford’s name. His expression is changing, and twisting, and his eyes are darting around the room until they land on Dipper. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and opens it again. He sits there for what feels like minutes, looking like a fish out water.

But then the fog clears from Stan’s eyes, and Dipper is suddenly crushed in such a tight hug that he can’t breathe.

_“Dipper!”_ Stan shouts. “You crazy, stubborn maniac, you’re _okay!”_ He barks loudly in laughter, and squeezes Dipper even tighter. “I can’t believe it! I’d thought I lost you for good! There was blue fire everywhere, and then a flash of bright white, and-”

He jumps to his feet, knocking the toffee peanuts and the ice pack for his chest to the floor. “ _Mabel!!_ Mabel was there, in-in this forest clearing, asking if I was okay, and-” he freezes. He turns back towards Dipper, and takes a knee. “and _Ford! Where’s Ford?_ ”

Dipper laughs. “Fast asleep, if you’re willing to believe,” he says, and before Stan can stand to his feet or do anything else spontaneous, he throws his arms around Stan’s neck, clinging to him tightly.

“Heh,” Stan laughs, and brings his arms around Dipper to return the hug. “I missed you too, kiddo,” he whispers, and pulls away to ruffle up Dipper’s hair. “Feels good to know you’ve been taking care while I was gone”

Dipper doesn’t respond to that, just chuckles wetly before throwing his arms around Stan once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for taking time out of your way to indulge in my writing. This is my first time tackling a 5 + 1, even though I've had a weakness for the writing trope for years. I'm personally dedicating this fic to all the fan artists who have drawn pictures and comics of Stan patching up an injured Dipper over the years, because you're all a direct inspiration for this story. Though I already have the whole fic planned out, comments and feedback on how I'm handling the format is greatly appreciated!


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